Old Japanese Songs
Old Japanese Songs
THIS New Year's morning I find upon my table two most welcome gifts from a young poet of my literary class. One is a roll of cloth for a new kimono,—cloth such as my Western reader never saw. The brown warp is cotton thread; but the woof is soft white paper string, irregularly speckled with black. When closely examined, the black specklings prove to be Chinese and Japanese characters;—for the paper woof is made out of manuscript,—manuscript of poems,—which has been deftly twisted into fine cord, with the written surface outwards. The general effect of the white, black, and brown in the texture is a warm mouse-grey. In many Izumo homes a similar kind of cloth is manufactured for family use; but this piece was woven especially for me by the mother of my pupil. It will make a most comfortable winter-robe; and when wearing it, I shall be literally clothed with poetry,—even as a divinity might be clothed with the sun.
The other gift is poetry also, but poetry in the original state: a wonderful manuscript collection of Japanese songs gathered from unfamiliar sources, and particularly interesting from the fact that nearly all of them are furnished with refrains. There are hundreds of compositions, old and new,—including several extraordinary ballads, many dancing-songs, and a surprising variety of love-songs. Neither in sentiment nor in construction do any of these resemble the Japanese poetry of which I have already, in previous books, offered specimens in translation. The forms are, in most cases, curiously irregular; but their irregularity is not without a strange charm of its own.
I am going to offer examples of these compositions,—partly because of their unfamiliar emotional quality, and partly because I think that something can be learned from their strange art of construction. The older songs—selected from the antique drama—seem to me particularly worthy of notice. The thought or feeling and its utterance are supremely simple; yet by primitive devices of reiteration and of pause, very remarkable results have been obtained. What strikes me especially noteworthy in the following specimen is the way that the phrase, begun with the third line of the first stanza, and interrupted by a kind of burthen, is repeated and finished in the next stanza. Perhaps the suspension will recall to Western readers the effect of some English ballads with double refrains, or of such quaint forms of French song as the famous—
Au jardin de mon père—
Vole, mon cœur, vole!
Il y a un pommier doux,
Tout doux!
But in the Japanese song the reiteration of the broken phrase produces a slow dreamy effect as unlike the effect of the French composition as the movements of a Japanese dance are unlike those of any Western round:—
KANO YUKU WA
(Probably from the eleventh century)
Kano yuku wa,
Kari ka?—kugui ka?
Kari naraba,—
(Ref.) Haréya tōtō!
Haréya tōtō!
Kari nara
Nanori zo sémashi;—
Nao kugui nari-ya!—
(Ref.) Tōtō!
That which yonder flies,—
Wild goose is it?—swan is it?
Wild goose if it be,—
Haréya tōtō!
Haréya tōtō!
Wild goose if it be,
Its name I soon shall say:
Wild swan if it be,—better still!
Tōtō!
There are many old lyrics in the above form. Here is another song, of different construction, also from the old drama: there is no refrain, but there is the same peculiar suspension of phrase; and the effect of the quadruple repetition is emotionally impressive:—
Isora ga saki ni
Tai tsuru ama mo,
Tai tsuru ama mo,—
Wagimoko ga tamé to,
Tai tsuru ama mo,
Tai tsuru ama mo!
Off the Cape of Isora,
Even the fisherman catching tai,[92]
Even the fisherman catching tai,—
[Works] for the sake of the woman beloved,—
Even the fisherman catching tai,
Even the fisherman catching tai!
[92] ] Chrysopbris cardinalis, a kind of sea-bream,—generally esteemed the best of Japanese fishes.
But a still more remarkable effect is obtained in the following ancient song by the extraordinary reiteration of an uncompleted phrase, and by a double suspension. I can imagine nothing more purely natural: indeed the realism of these simple utterances has almost the quality of pathos:—
AGÉMAKI
(Old lyrical drama—date uncertain)
Agémaki[93] wo
Waséda ni yarité ya!
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,
So omou to,—
So omou to,
Nani-mo sezushité,—
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura,
Harubi sura!
My darling boy!—
Oh! they have sent him to the ricefields!
When I think about him,—
When I think,
When I think,
When I think,
When I think,—
When I think about him!
I—doing nothing at all,—
Even on this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even this spring-day,
Even on this spring-day!—
[93] ] It was formerly the custom to shave the heads of boys, leaving only a tuft or lock of hair on either temple. Such a lock was called agémaki, a word also meaning "tassel"; and eventually the term came to signify a boy or lad. In these songs it is used as a term of endearment,—much as an English girl might speak of her sweetheart as "my dear lad," or "my darling boy."
Other forms of repetition and of refrain are furnished in the two following lyrics:—
BINDATARA
(Supposed to have been composed as early as the twelfth century)
Bindatara wo
Ayugaséba koso,
Ayugaséba koso,
Aikyō zuitaré!
Yaréko tōtō,
Yaréko tōtō!
With loosened hair,—
Only because of having tossed it,
Only because of having shaken it,—
Oh, sweet she is!
Yaréko tōtō!
Yaréko tōtō!
SAMA WA TENNIN
(Probably from the sixteenth century)
Sama wa tennin!
Soré-soré,
Tontorori!
Otomé no sugata
Kumo no kayoiji
Chirato mita!
Tontorori!
Otomé no sugata
Kumo no kayoiji
Chirato mita!
Tontorori!
My beloved an angel is![94]
Soré-soré!
Tontorori!
The maiden's form,
In the passing of clouds,
In a glimpse I saw!
Tontorori!
The maiden's form,
In the passage of clouds,
In a glimpse I saw!
Tontorori!
[94] ] Lit., "a Tennin";—that is to say, an inhabitant of the Buddhist heaven. The Tennin are usually represented as beautiful maidens.
My next selection is from a love-song of uncertain date, belonging to the Kamakura period (1186-1332). This fragment is chiefly remarkable for its Buddhist allusions, and for its very regular form of stanza:—
Makoto yara,
Kashima no minato ni
Miroku no mifuné ga
Tsuité gozarimōsu.
Yono!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Hobashira wa,
Kogané no hobashira;
Ho niwa Hokkékyō no
Go no man-makimono.
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
I know not if 't is true
That to the port of Kashima
The august ship of Miroku[95] has come!
Yono!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
[95] ] Miroku Bosatsu (Maitrêya Bodhisattva) is the next great Buddha to come.
As for the mast,
It is a mast of gold;—
The sail is the fifth august roll
Of the Hokkékyō[96]
Sā iyoë, iyoë!
Sā iyoë, iyoë
[96] ] Japanese popular name for the Chinese version of the Saddhârma Pundarîka Sûtra.—Many of the old Buddhist scriptures were written upon long scrolls, called makimono,—a name also given to pictures printed upon long rolls of silk or paper.
Otherwise interesting, with its queer refrain, is another song called "Agémaki,"—belonging to one of the curious class of lyrical dramas known as Saibara. This may be found fault with as somewhat "free"; but I cannot think it more open to objection than some of our much-admired Elizabethan songs which were probably produced at about the same time:—
AGÉMAKI
(Probably from the sixteenth century)
Agémaki ya!
Tonton!
Hiro bakari ya—
Tonton!
Sakarité netarédomo,
Marobi-ainikéri,—
Tonton!
Kayori-ainikéri,
Tonton!
Oh! my darling boy!
Tonton!
Though a fathom[97] apart,
Tonton!
Sleeping separated,
By rolling we came together!
Tonton!
By slow approaches we came together,
Tonton!
[97] ] Lit., "hiro." The hiro is a measure of about five feet English, and is used to measure breadth as well as depth.
My next group of selections consists of "local songs"—by which term the collector means songs peculiar to particular districts or provinces. They are old—though less old than the compositions previously cited;—and their interest is chiefly emotional. But several, it will be observed, have curious refrains. Songs of this sort are sung especially at the village-dances—Bon-odori and Hōnen-odori:—
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Echigo)
Hana ka?—chōchō ka?
Chōchō ka?—hana ka?
Don-don!
Kité wa chira-chira mayowaséru,
Kité wa chira-chira mayowaséru!
Taichokané!
Sōkané don-don!
Flower is it?—butterfly is it?
Butterfly or flower?
Don-don!
When you come thus flickering, I am deluded!—
When you come thus twinkling, I am bewitched!
Taichokané!
Sōkané don-don!
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Kii,—village of Ogawa)
Koë wa surédomo
Sugata wa miénu—
Fuka-no no kirigirisu!
Though I hear the voice [of the beloved], the form I cannot see—a kirigirisu[98] in the high grass.
[98] ] The kirigirisu is a kind of grasshopper with a very musical note. It is very difficult to see it, even when it is singing close by, for its color is exactly the color of the grass. The song alludes to the happy peasant custom of singing while at work in the fields.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Mutsu,—district of Sugaru)
Washi no kokoro to
Oki kuru funé wa,
Raku ni misétémo,
Ku ga taënu.
My heart and a ship in the offing—either seems to move with ease; yet in both there is trouble enough.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Suwō,—village of Iséki)
Namida koboshité
Shinku wo kataru,
Kawairashi-sa ga
Mashimasuru!
As she tells me all the pain of her toil, shedding tears,—ever her sweetness seems to increase.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Suruga, village of Gotemba)
Hana ya, yoku kiké!
Shō aru naraba,
Hito ga fusagu ni
Nazé hiraku?
O flower, hear me well if thou hast a soul! When any one sorrows as I am sorrowing, why dost thou bloom?
OLD TŌKYŌ SONG
Iya-na o-kata no
Shinsetsu yori ka
Suita o-kata no
Muri ga yoi.
Better than the kindness of the disliked is the violence of the beloved.
LOVE-SONG
(Province of Iwami)
Kawairashi-sa ya!
Hotaru no mushi wa
Shinobu nawaté ni
Hi wo tomosu.
Ah, the darling!... Ever as I steal along the ricefield-path [to meet my lover], the firefly kindles a light to show me the way.
COMIC SONG
(Province of Shinano)
Ano yama kagé dé
Hikaru wa nanja?—
Tsuki ka, hoshi ka, hotaru no mushi ka?
Tsuki démo naiga;
Hoshi démo naiga;—
Shūto no o-uba no mé ga hikaru,—
(Chorus) Mé ga hikaru!
In the shadow of the mountain
What is it that shines so?
Moon is it, or star?—or is it the firefly-insect?
Neither is it moon,
Nor yet star;—
It is the old woman's Eye;—it is the Eye of my
mother-in-law that shines,—
(Chorus) It is her Eye that shines!
KAËRI-ODORI[99]
(Province of Sanuki)
[99] ] I am not sure of the real meaning of the name Kaëri-Odori (lit. "turn-dance" or "return-dance").
Oh! the cruelty, the cruelty of my mother-in-law!—
(Chorus) Oh! the cruelty!
Even tells me to paint a picture on running water!
If ever I paint a picture on running water,
You will count the stars in the night-sky!
Count the stars in the night-sky!
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honorable Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosé!
Who cuts the bamboo at the back of the house?—
(Chorus) Who cuts the bamboo?—
My sweet lord's own bamboo, the first he planted,—
The first be planted?
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honorable Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosé!
Oh! the cruelty, the cruelty of my mother-in-law!—
Oh! the cruelty!
Tells me to cut and make a hakama[100] out of rock!
If ever I cut and sew a hakama of rock,
Then you will learn to twist the fine sand into thread,—
Twist it into thread.
—Come! let us dance the Dance of the Honorable Garden!—
Chan-chan!
Cha-cha!
Yoitomosé,
Yoitomosé!
Chan-chan-chan!
[100] ] A divided skirt of a peculiar form, worn formerly by men chiefly, to-day worn by female students also.
OTERA-ODORI (TEMPLE-DANCE)
(Province of Iga, village called Uenomachi)
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the august gate,
The august gate I find to be of silver, the panels of gold.
Noble indeed is the gate of the honorable temple,—
The honorable temple!
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the garden,
I see young pinetrees flourishing in the four directions:
On the first little branch of one the shijūgara[101] has made her nest,—
Has made her nest.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the water-tank,
I see little flowers of many colors set all about it,
Each one having a different color of its own,—
A different color.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the parlor-room,
I find many kinds of little birds gathered all together,
Each one singing a different song of its own,—
A different song.
Visiting the honorable temple, when I see the guest-room,
There I see the priest, with a lamp beside him,
Reading behind a folding-screen—oh, how admirable it is!—
How admirable it is!
[101] ] The Manchurian great tit. It is said to bring good fortune to the owners of the garden in which it builds a nest,—providing that the nest be not disturbed and that the brood be protected.
Many kinds of popular songs—and especially the class of songs sung at country-dances—are composed after a mnemonic plan. The stanzas are usually ten in number; and the first syllable of each should correspond in sound to the first syllable of the numeral placed before the verse. Sometimes Chinese numerals are used; sometimes Japanese. But the rule is not always perfectly observed. In the following example it will be observed that the correspondence of the first two syllables in the first verse with the first two syllables of the Japanese word for one (hitotsu) is a correspondence of meaning only;—ichi being the Chinese numeral:—
SONG OF FISHERMEN
(Province of Shimosa,—town of Chōshi)[102]
[102] ] Chōshi, a town of some importance, is situated at the mouth of the Tonégawa. It is celebrated for its iwashi-fishery. The iwashi is a fish about the size of the sardine, and is sought chiefly for the sake of its oil. Immense quantities of iwashi are taken off the coast. They are boiled to extract the oil; and the dried residue is sent inland to serve as manure.
Hitotsutosé,—
Ichiban buné é tsumi-kondé,
Kawaguchi oshikomu ō-yagoë.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Futatsutosé,—
Futaba no oki kara Togawa madé
Tsuzuité oshikomu ō-yagoë.
Kono tai-ryō-buné
Mitsutosé,—
Mina ichidō-ni manéki wo agé,
Kayowasé-buné no nigiyakasa
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Yotsutosé,—
Yoru-hiru taitémo taki-amaru,
San-bai itchō no ō-iwashi!
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Itsutsutosé,—
Itsu kité mitémo hoshika-ba ni
Akima sukima wa sarani nai.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Mutsutoyé,—
Mutsu kara mutsu madé kasu-wari ga
Ō-wari ko-wari dé té ni owaré.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Nanatsutosé,—
Natakaki Tonégawa ichi-men ni
Kasu-ya abura wo tsumi-okuru
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Yatsutosé,—
Yatébuné no okiai wakashu ga,
Ban-shuku soroété miya-mairi.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Kokonotsutosé,—
Kono ura mamoru kawa-guchi no
Myōjin riyaku wo arawasuru.
Kono tai-ryō-buné!
Firstly (or "Number One"),—
The first ship, filled up with fish, squeezes her way through the river-mouth, with a great shouting.[103]
[103] ] Ō-yagoë. The chorus-cry or chant of sailors, pulling all together, is called yagoë.
O this ship of great fishing![104]
[104] ] Tai-ryō buné, lit.:—"great-fishing," or "great-catching-ship." The adjective refers to the fishing, not to the ship. The real meaning of the refrain is, "this-most-successful-in-fishing of ships."
Secondly,—
From the offing of Futaba even to the Togawa,[105] the ships, fast following, press in, with a great shouting.
O this ship of great fishing!
[105] ] Perhaps the reference is to a village at the mouth of the river Togawa,—not far from Chōshi on the Tonégawa. The two rivers are united by a canal. But the text leaves it uncertain whether river or village is meant.
Thirdly,—
When, all together, we hoist our signal-flags, see how fast the cargo-boats come hurrying!
O this ship of great fishing!
Fourthly,—
Night and day though the boiling be, there is still too much to boil—oh, the heaps of iwashi from the three ships together!
O this ship of great fishing!
Fifthly,— Whenever you go to look at the place where the dried fish are kept,[106] never do you find any room,—not even a crevice.
O this ship of great fishing!
[106] ] Hoshika-ba: lit., "the hoshika-place" or "hoshika-room." "Hoshika" is the name given to dried fish prepared for use as fertilizer.
Sixthly,—
From six to six o'clock is cleaning and washing: the great cutting and the small cutting are more than can be done.
O this ship of great fishing!
Seventhly,—
All up and down the famous river Tonégawa we send our loads of oil and fertilizer.
O this ship of great fishing!
Eighthly,—
All the young folk, drawing the Yatai-buné,[107] with ten thousand rejoicings, visit the shrine of the God.
O this ship of great fishing!
[107] ] Yatai is the name given to the ornamental cars drawn with ropes in a religious procession. Yatai-buné here seems to mean either the model of a boat mounted upon such a car, or a real boat so displayed in a religious procession. I have seen real boats mounted upon festival-cars in a religious procession at Mionoséki.
Ninthly,—
Augustly protecting all this coast, the Deity of the river-mouth shows to us his divine favor.
O this ship of great fishing!
A stranger example of this mnemonic arrangement is furnished by a children's song, composed at least a hundred years ago. Little girls of Yedo used to sing it while playing ball. You can see the same ball-game being played by girls to-day, in almost any quiet street of Tōkyō. The ball is kept bounding in a nearly perpendicular line by skilful taps of the hand delivered in time to the measure of a song; and a good player should be able to sing the song through without missing a stroke. If she misses, she must yield the ball to another player.[108] There are many pretty "ball-play songs;" but this old-fashioned and long-forgotten one is a moral curiosity:—
[108] ] This is the more common form of the game; but there are many other forms. Sometimes two girls play at once with the same ball—striking it alternately as it bounds.
Hitotsu to ya:—
Hito wa kō na hito to iu;
On wo shiranéba kō naraji.
Futatsu to ya:—
Fuji yori takaki chichi no on;
Tsuné-ni omouté wasuré-naji.
Mitsu to ya:—
Mizu-umi kaetté asashi to wa,
Haha no on zo ya omou-beshi.
Yotsu to ya:—
Yoshiya mazushiku kurasu tomo,
Sugu-naru michi wo maguru-moji.
Itsutsu to ya:—
Itsumo kokoro no kawaranu wo,
Makoto no hito to omou-beshi.
Mutsu to ya:—
Munashiku tsukihi wo kurashi-naba,
Nochi no nagéki to shirinu-beshi.
Nanatsu to ya:—
Nasaki wa hito no tamé narodé,
Waga mi no tamé to omou-beshi.
Yatsu to ya:—
Yaku-nan muryō no wazawai mo
Kokoro zen nara nogaru-beshi.
Kokonotsu to ya:—
Kokoro kotoba no sugu-naraba,
Kami ya Hotoké mo mamoru-beshi.
Tō to ya:—
Tōtoi hito to naru naraba,
Kōkō mono to iwaru-beshi.
This is the first:—
[Only] a person having filial piety is [worthy to be] called a person:[109]
If one does not know the goodness of parents, one has not filial piety.
[109] ] Lit., "A person having filial piety is called a person." The word hito (person), usually indicating either a man or a woman, is often used in the signification of "people" or "Mankind." The full meaning of the sentence is that no unfilial person deserves to be called a human being.
The second:—
Higher than the [mountain] Fuji is the favor of a father:
Think of it always;—never forget it.
The third:—
[Compared with a mother's love] the great lake is shallow indeed!
[By this saying] the goodness of a mother should be estimated.
The fourth:—
Even though in poverty we have to pass our days,
Let us never turn aside from the one straight path.
The fifth:—
The person whose heart never changes with time,
A true man or woman that person must be deemed.
The sixth:—
If the time [of the present] be spent in vain,
In the time of the future must sorrow be borne.
The seventh:—
That a kindness done is not for the sake of others only,
But also for one's own sake, should well be kept in mind.
The eighth:—
Even the sorrow of numberless misfortunes
We shall easily escape if the heart be pure.
The ninth:—
If the heart and the speech be kept straight and true,
The Gods and the Buddhas will surely guard us well.
The tenth:—
In order to become a person held in honor,
As a filial person one must [first] be known.
The reader may think to himself, "How terribly exigent the training that could require the repetition of moral lessons even in a 'ball-play song'!" True,—but it produced perhaps the very sweetest type of woman that this world has ever known.
In some dance-songs the burthen is made by the mere repetition of the last line, or of part of the last line, of each stanza. The following queer ballad exemplifies the practice, and is furthermore remarkable by reason of the curious onomatopoetic choruses introduced at certain passages of the recitative:—
KANÉ-MAKI-ODORI UTA
("Bell-wrapping-dance song."—Province of Iga—Naga district)
A Yamabushi of Kyōto went to Kumano. There resting in the inn Chōjaya, by the beach of Shirotaka, he saw a little girl three years old; and he petted and hugged her, playfully promising to make her his wife,—
(Chorus) Playfully promising.
Thereafter that Yamabushi travelled in various provinces; returning only when that girl was thirteen years old. "O my princess, my princess!" he cried to her,—"my little princess, pledged to me by promise!"—"O Sir Yamabushi," made she answer,—"good Sir Yamabushi, take me with you now!—
"Take me with you now!"
"O soon," he said, "I shall come again; soon I shall come again: then, when I come again, I shall take you with me,—
"Take you with me."
Therewith the Yamabushi, escaping from her, quickly, quickly fled away;—with all haste he fled away. Having passed through Tanabé and passed through Minabé, he fled on over the Komatsu moor,—
Over the Komatsu moor.
KAKKARA, KAKKARA, KAKKARA, KAKKA![110]
[110] ] These syllables, forming a sort of special chorus, are simply onomatopes; intended to represent the sound of sandalled feet running at utmost speed.
Therewith the damsel, pursuing, quickly, quickly followed after him;—with all speed she followed after him. Having passed through Tanabé and passed through Minabé, she pursued him over the Komatsu moor,—
Over the Komatsu moor.
Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, came as he fled to the river of Amoda, and cried to the boatman of the river of Amoda,—"O good boatman, good sir boatman, behind me comes a maid pursuing!—pray do not take her across, good boatman,—
"Good sir boatman!"
DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DEBOKU, DENDEN![111]
[111] ] These onomatopes, chanted by all the dancers together in chorus, with appropriate gesture, represent the sound of the ferryman's single oar, or scull, working upon its wooden peg. The syllables have no meaning in themselves.
Then the damsel, pursuing, came to the river of Amoda and called to the boatman, "Bring hither the boat!—take me over in the boat!"—"No, I will not bring the boat; I will not take you over: my boat is forbidden to carry women!—
"Forbidden to carry women!"
"If you do not take me over, I will cross!—if you do not take me over, I will cross!—there is a way to cross the river of Amoda!" Taking off her sandals and holding them aloft, she entered the water, and at once turned into a dragon with twelve horns fully grown,—
With twelve horns fully grown.
Then the Yamabushi, fleeing, reached the temple Dōjōji, and cried to the priests of the temple Dōjōji:—"O good priests, behind me a damsel comes pursuing!—hide me, I beseech you, good sir priests!—
"Good sir priests!"
Then the priests, after holding consultation, took down from its place the big bell of the temple; and under it they hid him,—
Under it they hid him.
Then the dragon-maid, pursuing, followed him to the temple Dōjōji. For a moment she stood in the gate of the temple: she saw that bell, and viewed it with suspicion. She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it once." She thought:—"I must wrap myself about it twice!" At the third wrapping, the bell was melted, and began to flow like boiling water,—
Like boiling water.
So is told the story of the Wrapping of the Bell. Many damsels dwell by the seashore of Japan;—but who among them, like the daughter of the Chōja, will become a dragon?—
Become a dragon?
This is all the Song of the Wrapping of the Bell!—this is all the Song,—
All the song![112]
[112] ] This legend forms the subject of several Japanese dramas, both ancient and modern. The original story is that a Buddhist priest, called Anchin, having rashly excited the affection of a maiden named Kiyohimé, and being, by reason of his vows, unable to wed her, sought safety from her advances in flight. Kiyohimé, by the violence of her frustrated passion, therewith became transformed into a fiery dragon; and in that shape she pursued the priest to the temple called Dōjōji, in Kumano (modern Kishū), where he tried to hide himself under the great temple-bell. But the dragon coiled herself round the bell, which at once became red-hot, so that the body of the priest was totally consumed.
In this rude ballad Kiyohimé figures only as the daughter of an inn-keeper,—the Chōja, or rich man of his village; while the priest Anchin is changed into a Yamabushi. The Yamabushi are, or at least were, wandering priests of the strange sect called Shugendo,—itinerant exorcists and diviners, professing both Shinto and Buddhism. Of late years their practices have been prohibited by law; and a real Yamabushi is now seldom to be met with.
The temple Dōjōji is still a famous place of pilgrimage. It is situated not far from Gobō, on the western coast of Kishū. The incident of Anchin and the dragon is said to have occurred in the early part of the tenth century.
I shall give only one specimen of the true street-ballad, —the kind of ballad commonly sung by wandering samisen-players. It is written in an irregular measure, varying from twelve to sixteen syllables in length; the greater number of lines having thirteen syllables. I do not know the date of its composition; but I am told by aged persons who remember hearing it sung when they were children, that it was popular in the period of Tenpō (1830-1843). It is not divided into stanzas; but there are pauses at irregular intervals,—marked by the refrain, Yanrei!
O-KICHI-SEIZA KUDOKI
("The Ditty of O-Kichi and Seiza")
Now hear the pitiful story of two that died for love.—In Kyōto was the thread-shop of Yoëmon, a merchant known far and near,—a man of much wealth. His business prospered; his life was fortunate. One daughter he had, an only child, by name O-Kichi: at sixteen years she was lovely as a flower. Also he had a clerk in his house, by name Seiza, just in the prime of youth, aged twenty-and-two.
Yanrei!
Now the young man Seiza was handsome; and O-Kichi fell in love with him at sight. And the two were so often together that their secret affection became known; and the matter came to the ears of the parents of O-Kichi; and the parents, hearing of it, felt that such a thing could not be suffered to continue.
Yanrei!
So at last, the mother, having called O-Kichi into a private room, thus spoke to her:—"O my daughter, I hear that you have formed a secret relation with the young man Seiza, of our shop. Are you willing to end that relation at once, and not to think any more about that man, O-Kichi?—answer me, O my daughter."
Yanrei!
"O my dear mother," answered O-Kichi, "what is this that you ask me to do? The closeness of the relation between Seiza and me is the closeness of the relation of the ink to the paper that it penetrates.[113] Therefore, whatever may happen, O mother of mine, to separate from Seiza is more than I can bear."
Yanrei!
[113] ] Lit.:—"that affinity as-for, ink-and-paper-soaked-like affinity."
Then, the father, having called Seiza to the innermost private room, thus spoke to him:—"I called you here only to tell you this: You have turned the mind of our daughter away from what is right; and even to hear of such a matter is not to be borne. Pack up your things at once, and go!—to-day is the utmost limit of the time that you remain in this house."
Yanrei!
Now Seiza was a native of Ōsaka. Without saying more than "Yes—yes," he obeyed and went away, returning to his home. There he remained four or five days, thinking only of O-Kichi. And because of his longing for her, he fell sick; and as there was no cure and no hope for him, he died.
Yanrei!
Then one night O-Kichi, in a moment of sleep, saw the face of Seiza close to her pillow,—so plainly that she could not tell whether it was real, or only a dream. And rising up, she looked about; but the form of Seiza had vanished.
Yanrei!
Because of this she made up her mind to go at once to the house of Seiza. And, without being seen by any one, she fled from the home of her parents.
Yanrei!
When she came to the ferry at the next village, she did not take the boat, but went round by another road; and making all haste she found her way to the city of Ōsaka. There she asked for the house of Seiza; and she learned that it was in a certain street, the third house from a certain bridge.
Yanrei!
Arriving at last before the home of Seiza, she took off her travelling hat of straw; and seating herself on the threshold of the entrance, she cried out:—"Pardon me kindly!—is not this the house of Master Seiza?"
Yanrei!
Then—O the pity of it!—she saw the mother of Seiza, weeping bitterly, and holding in her hand a Buddhist rosary. "O my good young lady," the mother of Seiza asked, "whence have you come; and whom do you want to see?"
Yanrei!
And O-Kichi said:—"I am the daughter of the thread-merchant of Kyōto. And I have come all the way here only because of the relation that has long existed between Master Seiza and myself. Therefore, I pray you, kindly permit me to see him."
Yanrei!
"Alas!" made answer the mother, weeping, "Seiza, whom you have come so far to see, is dead. To-day is the seventh day from the day on which he died." ... Hearing these words, O-Kichi herself could only shed tears.
Yanrei!
But after a little while she took her way to the cemetery. And there she found the sotoba[114] erected above the grave of Seiza; and leaning upon it, she wept aloud.
Yanrei!
[114] ] A wooden lath, bearing Buddhist texts, planted above graves. For a full account of the sotoba see my Exotics and Retrospectives: "The Literature of the Dead."
Then—how fearful a thing is the longing of a person[115]—the grave of Seiza split asunder; and the form of Seiza rose up therefrom and spoke.
Yanrei!
[115] ] In the original:—Hito no omoi wa osoroshi mono yo!—("how fearful a thing is the thinking of a person!"). The word omoi, used here in the sense of "longing," refers to the weird power of Seiza's dying wish to see his sweetheart. Even after his burial, this longing has the strength to burst open the tomb.
—In the old English ballad of "William and Marjorie" (see Child: vol. ii. p. 151) there is also a remarkable fancy about the opening and closing of a grave:—
She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon churchyard green;
And there the deep grave opened up,
And young William he lay down.
"Ah! is not this O-Kichi that has come? Kind indeed it was to have come to me from so far away! My O-Kichi, do not weep thus. Never again—even though you weep—can we be united in this world. But as you love me truly, I pray you to set some fragrant flowers before my tomb, and to have a Buddhist service said for me upon the anniversary of my death."
Yanrei!
And with these words the form of Seiza vanished. "O wait, wait for me!" cried O-Kichi,—"wait one little moment![116] I cannot let you return alone!—I shall go with you in a little time!"
Yanrei!
[116] ] With this episode compare the close of the English ballad "Sweet William's Ghost" (Child: vol. ii., page 148):—
"O stay, my only true love, stay!"
The constant Margaret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks; she closed her een,
Stretched her soft limbs, and died.
Then quickly she went beyond the temple-gate to a moat some four or five chō[117] distant; and having filled her sleeves with small stones, into the deep water she cast her forlorn body.
Yanrei!
[117] ] A chō is about one fifteenth of a mile.
And now I shall terminate this brief excursion into unfamiliar song-fields by the citation of two Buddhist pieces. The first is from the famous work Gempei Seisuiki ("Account of the Prosperity and Decline of the Houses of Gen and Hei"), probably composed during the latter part of the twelfth, or at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It is written in the measure called Imayō,—that is to say, in short lines alternately of seven and of five syllables (7, 5; 7, 5; 7, 5, ad libitum). The other philosophical composition is from a collection of songs called Ryūtachi-bushi ("Ryūtachi Airs"), belonging to the sixteenth century:—
I
(Measure, Imayō)
Sama mo kokoro mo
Kawaru kana!
Otsuru namida wa
Taki no mizu:
Myō-hō-rengé no
Iké to nari;
Guzé no funé ni
Sao sashité;
Shizumu waga mi wo
Nosé-tamaë!
Both form and mind—
Lo! how these change!
The falling of tears
Is like the water of a cataract.
Let them become the Pool
Of the Lotos of the Good Law!
Poling thereupon
The Boat of Salvation,
Vouchsafe that my sinking
Body may ride!
II
(Period of Bunrokū—1592-1596)
Who twice shall live his youth?
What flower faded blooms again?
Fugitive as dew
Is the form regretted,
Seen only
In a moment of dream.